Confections of a Chocoholic
by Ihnldy
Summary: After six months, Mrs. Bucket wants to move out of the factory...
1. Chapter 1

The bright summer sunshine beamed down on the gargantuan factory as Mrs. Bucket was returning from a morning in town.

Six months had passed since she and her family had moved into the factory. In that time, Georgina had passed away in her sleep with a smile on her face, and George followed shortly after. Their health had been declining for some time, and it was a surprise to her that they lived as long as they had.

Poor grandma Georgina had always been confused about one thing or another.

One such instance occurred one day when Mrs. Bucket invited Mr. Wonka to stay for the evening meal.  
::

"Your husband is very handsome! I'm so glad you decided to remarry!" Georgina whispered to her across the table from her place next to Willy; though really it was practically a shout which did not go unnoticed by anyone in the little house.

A blush flooded her cheeks and she couldn't quite join in with Charlie and Grandpa Joe's laughter.

Her eyes slowly skimmed over to the chocolatier, hoping perhaps the eccentric fellow hadn't heard the comment. But his violet eyes were on her, a tiny smile formed at his lips.

Georgina giggled to herself and continued with her bread pudding.

::

The innocent comment had upset the equilibrium Mrs. Bucket had been trying desperately hard to maintain since becoming acquainted with Mr. Wonka. Now she couldn't even look at him without feeling a wee bit embarrassed. Make that overwhelmingly embarrassed.

Especially if she thought about Georgina's further commentary after Mr. Wonka had politely excused himself and retired for the evening.

"You really love him, dear. Your eyes get all shiny and your cheeks get a pretty blush when he's near." And Georgina nodded, as if content in this knowledge, and patted Mrs. Bucket's hand.

Mrs. Bucket had opened her mouth to deny it before realizing that it was senseless to argue with her. If grandma Georgina was happy in this secret, or not so secret, conviction, then let her be so. She was not likely to remember it in the morning.

And she hadn't. In fact she woke and asked where her son was.

"He died many years ago, dear," her husband replied…

Yet what disturbed Mrs. Bucket the most, was that in spite of Georgina's apparent state of confusion, she had a very keen perception of things.

How did she know her feelings for the chocolatier? Had it been so obvious?

Mrs. Bucket decided it had become far too uncomfortable living in the factory.

Her dad loved it here. Now that he was getting a healthy diet, his strength had come back to a considerable degree. He frequently accompanied Charlie to the inventing room to work on some new candy. He and Josephine would do just fine without her living there with them.

Her presence was no longer needed. She would simply find a place somewhere close by and continue with her job as a washer woman.

Surely that would be the sensible thing to do.

She would talk to the others about it tonight.

:::

"That is completely senseless!" Joe bellowed. "Wherever did you get such a ridiculous idea?"

Mrs. Bucket crossed her arms and proudly titled back her head, "What's so ridiculous about it?"

"A young woman living alone; it's simply not safe! There would be nobody to protect you…"

Mrs. Bucket's laughter cut him off. "First of all, I'm not exactly a spring chicken anymore, dad…"

"Balderdash! You're only thirty-one…"

"And secondly," she continued, "What sort of protection do you suppose I had before we moved here? Hmmm?"

Her father snorted, "Well, you had George's sharp tongue for one. But now he's gone. And Georgina would have amused any intruder to distraction…"

"It is you who are being ridiculous, dad."

"What about Charlie? The boy needs his mother around. He's still just a child."

She froze. To this, she had no reply. She was torn on this matter.

"I know he does. But I'm not planning to move far away. I'll be within walking distance. Those apartments down the street; you can even see them from here. And he will still have you and Josephine."

"Have you told Charlie about this?"

"Told me what?" Charlie asked as he came bursting in through the door.

**AN: In case there is any confusion, this is based mostly on the original film in which Mrs. Bucket is a widow, and Mr. Wonka is much more human. But I will use elements of both films. I am making up ages and Mrs. Bucket's first name.**


	2. Chapter 2

Mrs. Bucket shot a warning look to her father. Completely unfazed, he proceeded to bellow out-

"Your mother has got a harebrained idea about moving out of the factory! She's off her rocker, Charlie! Maybe you can talk some sense into her. Thinks she's going to get one of those crummy apartments down the street…"

"Crummy!" Mrs. Bucket cried, "Do you suppose _this_ little shack is Buckingham Palace. I'll have you know-"

"Mom," Charlie cut her off, "Grandpa Joe is right. We don't want you to leave. _I_ don't want you to leave. Don't you like it here anymore?"

She sighed in answer and strode over to the bed where Grandma Josephine was napping. Perching on the edge of the bed, she answered quietly, "I like it here very much, Charlie."  
_Too much_.

"Then why do you want to go?"

Now the conversation had come full circle. Yet she still hadn't told them her biggest reason for wanting to leave. And she couldn't. She wouldn't. She would just have to convince them somehow that it was for the best. She straightened…

"Charlie, when you become a grown-up, you have to start taking care of yourself. Don't you see? It just isn't right for me to live here."

"That's stupid!" Charlie argued, "Grandpa Joe is a grown-up and you've taken care of him for a long time-"

"Yes but that's different, Charlie. He is old-"

Grandpa Joe scowled at his daughter, but felt a reluctant smile tug at his lips.

"So it's ok for other people to take care of you if you're a child, or if you're old; but not if you're in-between?" Charlie asked.

"Well…." Mrs. Bucket started; but this argument was getting her nowhere. "See here, Charlie. If I tell you that it isn't right, then you must believe me. It's simply not decent for me to live here. It isn't right for me to live in Mr. Wonka's factory."

Charlie frowned.

Joe frowned, "But it's not just Mr. Wonka's factory. Not entirely; it's Charlie's factory too. That's the entire reason we're here."

"That's exactly it, don't you see. It's _Charlie's _factory," Mrs. Bucket said.

Charlie frowned, now looking more confused than ever.

Deciding she wasn't going to get her point across, Mrs. Bucket shrugged. "I've made up my mind. And Charlie, I don't want you discussing this with Mr. Wonka."

Charlie nodded.

But would Charlie remember his mother's order?

Of course not.

****

For one horrible moment, Willy thought he might have made a mistake. But it was only a moment, mind you. A moment in which he thought that maybe he had been wrong in looking for a child to inherit the factory. Maybe he should have sold it to some big name corporation.

But then he laughed out loud at the absurd idea, drawing a scornful look from Charlie.

"Stop laughing at me! I'll get it right next time. I promise!" Charlie said defensively as a fowl smelling concoction started bubbling forth from a glass tube.

Willy frowned, wondering what the devil Charlie was going on about, before realizing that he must think himself the object of his laughter.

Charlie had made five mistakes this morning while mixing different formulas, which was Willy's initial reason for rethinking the wisdom of getting a child heir. Perhaps it was too much to expect a mere child to learn all the workings of the factory. Perhaps it was too burdensome a task.

"I'm not laughing at you, Charlie," he assured him. "I was laughing at …er…something else."

Charlie gave him a dubious glare. "Sure you were."

Willy gave Charlie's shoulder a little shove. "Say, kid, you seem kinda bummed out today. What's going on up there?" he asked, tapping Charlie's head.

Charlie absently reached up and smoothed a hand through his hair. "It's my mom," he said sadly. "She wants to move out of the factory."

"Hehe," Willy responded, "That's funny. But really, Charlie. What's wrong?"

Charlie sighed and cast Willy a look of aggravation.

Several seconds ticked by, then…

"Oh! I see. Well…why does she want to move out of the factory when she hasn't even moved out of her house? That's just silly!"

"That's what I thought!" Charlie exclaimed. "She said when you grow up you have to take care of yourself, and stuff like that. I don't know what the factory's got to do with it, though. Do you, Willy?"

Charlie gave his mentor an expectant look, a bit disgruntled to see that closed-off demeanor to Willy's face; which meant he was thinking about something he wanted to keep secret.

"I'm sure I have no idea, Charlie." Willy answered quickly, and turned just as fast to hide his expression, not realizing Charlie had already taken note of it.

In fact Willy did have an idea. But he wasn't about to explain to Charlie that his mother was too prideful to be supported by her twelve year old son.

"Now, Charlie!" the chocolatier said excitedly, "Let me show you the right way to mix this formula-" but when he gave Charlie a cheerful grin, the boy was glaring daggers at him with arms firmly crossed.

Willy's smiled faltered, now appearing a tad nervous. Make that quite a bit nervous. "What?" he asked stupidly.

"I'm not stupid, Mr. Wonka," Charlie began. "I know you're keeping something a secret."

Willy gulped, knowing he was in trouble when Charlie called him 'Mr.' His eyes stayed on Charlie as he nervously reached for a vial.

"Am not!" he retorted.

Charlie's eyes flickered over to the vial in Willy's hand. "Are too. That's the wrong ingredient you picked up. You always make mistakes when you're distracted."

"It is not! ………oh." Willy set the vial back where it belonged. "Fine, then, Mr. Smarty Pants," he grumbled.

Charlie reiterated the main point. "So do you know why my mother wants to move out of the factory?"

Willy sighed, "Yes." And then that look suddenly came into his eyes; the look of epiphany, of new ideas and new dreams. And then just as quick it was gone. His expression calm now, he turned to Charlie.

"Tell me!" Charlie demanded. "Tell me why so I can fix it."

Willy smiled, but shook his head. "No, I think I can fix it better, Charlie. I'll talk to your mom later today."

"You will? Oh thank you, I'm sure if anyone can….wait! You can't. I wasn't supposed to tell you anything." Charlie cringed, _me and my big mouth_.

Mr. Wonka's smile was devious. "Oh, don't worry about that Charlie. She won't suspect a thing. I promise."

Charlie gave a sigh of relief. "Thanks Willy."

And for the rest of the day, Charlie didn't make any more mistakes with the formulas.

**AN: Wow, I got a review! That means my story is AWESOME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! :B**


	3. Chapter 3

Mrs. Bucket walked through the little house humming a comforting tune to sooth her spirit. Though she maintained an air of composure on the outside, inside she felt sick and miserable. Earlier that afternoon she had visited the landlord of the Crick Hollow apartments down the street. He showed her a few that were available for rent. To be sure, they were quite sad and shabby, unlike the little house she had lived in for so long; which was quite _happy_ and shabby.

No place would ever feel quite like this place, but she had resolved to leave the factory by the end of the week. For the past hour she had been collecting things that she meant to take with her. There was very little.

This would have been much simpler if she hadn't allowed her home to be transported to the chocolate room in the first place. But she'd been so enchanted by the chocolate factory, not to mention by its owner, and she was powerless to resist. She could have simply stayed there in the house where it had been. Charlie could have walked to the factory if he'd been so inclined. But what was done was done, and it wouldn't be fair to inconvenience everyone by insisting that the house be moved back to its original location. No, she would leave, and that would be easier on everyone.

Who was she kidding? She hadn't lived alone in…well…ever. She married at eighteen, had Charlie by nineteen, and was widowed at twenty four. That's when she moved back in with her parents to the shabby little house, with a five-year-old Charlie. When her father-in-law was injured, he was unable to return to work. He exhausted his meager savings paying his medical bills, and was then unable to support himself and his wife. Thus the little house went from four occupants to six.

Often she teased that the four of them had been bed-ridden for the past twenty years. In truth it had only been in the past four years that her in-laws had taken a turn for the worse. It was shocking how quickly a person could go from cognitive and active, to slow, to unresponsive, to deceased. A reminder that life is indeed temporary.

Times had been hard, but she had not complained. The only real pain had come from losing her husband. But even in this, she knew that he was in a much better place now. And now his parents were up there with him, probably pestering him to no end.

Thinking about her husband brought a mist to her eyes, and she quickly rubbed a hand across her them. He was her one and only. She could not love another, it wouldn't be right.

A sharp rapping at the door confused her for a moment as her thoughts dissolved away to focus on the noise. An instant later she realized someone was knocking at the door. She smiled, feeling silly.

"Come in, dear," she called, wondering why Charlie was knocking. Evidently she was still feeling a little confused, because when the door slowly cracked open, Mr. Wonka was standing there in the doorway instead of Charlie, and he was politely removing his hat and greeting her with a little bow.

"Oh!" she said weakly, feeling a blush warm her cheeks. She smiled, feeling sheepish. "Do come in, Mr. Wonka. What can I do for you?"

He smiled then, his bright clever eyes twinkling with some mischief. "I've come to discuss a business arrangement, Mrs. Bucket."

"Oh?" she asked dazedly.

He nodded, walking over to the table and pulling out a chair. "Mind if I sit down?" he asked belatedly after he had dropped into the chair and placed his hat and cane on the table.

A small laugh escaped her lips, "Of course not. Please have a seat." And she took a chair the furthest distance from him.

She waited for him to elaborate, but at the moment he seemed to be studying her hair, which was falling around her shoulders in messy tangles. Self consciously she pushed it back and straightened in her seat.

***

Willy took a breath and opened his mouth to speak, but he quickly remembered that it was important to be subtle. People simply did not like directness. They preferred to hear someone beat around the bush for a while before getting to the point; so Willy resolved to take this conversation slowly.

Children were different. You could be frank with children, he thought, recalling his conversation with Charlie six months ago..

"_How'd you like the Chocolate factory, Charlie?....I'm very glad…, because I'm giving it to you." _And that was that. Very simple, very easy.

***

Mrs. Bucket was beginning to feel nervous as those violet eyes continued to stare. He had something difficult to say, she could sense it.

"Is something wrong, Mr. Wonka?" she asked gently.

Then he laughed, and the tension seemed to evaporate. "Yes."

"Um, pardon?" she asked with a confused smirk.

"Yes," he stated, "Something is wrong."

"Well, what is it?"

Mr. Wonka had the urge to get up and walk closer to her, but he realized this would probably just make her nervous, if she wasn't already.

"Your son needs a father, Mrs. Bucket," he stated seriously.

She gulped, definitely starting to feel nervous.  
"Oh? You think so? "

***

**AN: I am making all of this up off the top of my head based on the 1971 film, so please don't be gettin' all uppity about any deeply important mistakes in regard to the historical accuracey :D**


	4. Chapter 4

Mr. Wonka smiled a disturbing smile, unsettling poor Mrs. Bucket's nerves to an even greater extent.  
"Yes, I think so," he answered slowly, as if talking to a child. "Charlie is going to be a man some day, and he needs the guidance of a father figure in his life."

Mrs. Bucket laughed nervously, "Mr. Wonka, that is ridiculous. He has his grandpa Joe, and he has…well he has you. Why should he need a father?"

Mr. Wonka smirked, "Do you suppose Charlie will get married some day?"

She blinked, "Well, I suppose so. But I still don't see…"

"How will Charlie know the importance of his role as a husband and father unless he has an example?"

Mrs. Bucket crossed her arms and gave Willy her best condescending glare. "Mr. Wonka, my son is twelve years old. He has lived without a father since he was five. What makes you think that having you as a father will make any difference in his life?"

There was silence for several heartbeats, then Mrs. Bucket realized what she just said. A crimson blush stained her pale cheeks, and she looked away.

Now Mr. Wonka was brilliant with mind games, and it thrilled him to no end when he could glean the desired response from his subject. This was no exception.

"Why Mrs. Bucket," he said very quietly, "I had no idea you would consider _me_ in the role. Now then…" and he pulled out something from his back pocket.

"Just a minute, Mr. Wonka," she said rather panicky, rising from the table and spreading her hands in a gesture of defense. "I don't what ideas you've got into your head-"

"Ideas?" he asked, all innocence, "_My_ head? Why it was _your_ idea, Mrs. Bucket, and I must say-"

"_What_ was my idea?" she cried, grabbing a hold of his sleeve as he rose and started for the door.

"Getting married, of course, Mrs. Bucket. A most sensible solution, if you ask me-"

"But I'm _not_ asking you, Willy!" she cried, now thoroughly exasperated, "You're completely insa-"

"Ah! See there, already you're calling me by my first name!"

"But who's getting married? What on earth are you…"

"We are, Mrs. Bucket," he said with that patronizing tone, "Please, do try to keep up with the conversation. Now, as I was saying…"

Mrs. Bucket threw up her hands with a groan of despair. "That's absurd, Mr. Wonka! In fact I'm planning on moving out by the end of the week."

There, that should stop this insanity, she thought. But he wasn't listening. In fact he was studying his notepad, taping a pen against his lips in thought.

"Friday just won't work at all," he was saying, "It's bad luck to get married on a Friday. And on Saturday I'm having a conference with the Umpa-Loompas."

"Mr. Wonka!"

"So it will have to be Sunday." And he scribbled on the notepad.

Mrs. Bucket cleared her throat, "Mr. Wonka, did you hear what I said? I said I am moving out by the end of the week."

Mr. Wonka laughed, "Oh no, Mrs. Bucket. I'm afraid that won't do; I simply won't allow it." He shook his head, "No, I'm afraid I can't have my wife living anywhere else but with me."

She opened her mouth, as it was ready to speak even if her brain was not. But in the next instant the crazed chocolatier placed a hand on her shoulder and bent to deliver a swift kiss on her gaping mouth.

"I must be going now, Mrs. Bucket." And he swept out the door, closing it with a gentle click and leaving Mrs. Bucket quite stunned and speechless.


End file.
